Be Still
by Tusios
Summary: What if a one certain wraith is to discover where his race originaly came from? Strong M, refer to A/N. Not slash.


Be Still.

Disclaimer: I do not own SGA, characters, parts of the plot etc.

Summary: What if a certain wraith was to discover the truth about his race in a very painful way?.. Starting before "The Queen", goes canon and diverts at "Infection"/"Enemy at the Gate".

A/N: This is going to be a long one, so if you do not wish to read it, skip to the chapter 1.

First of all, I would like to admit that I hate Mary-Sues. However, I couldn't find a nice enough pairing for my beloved Todd (McKeller I heart, Sam got sent to Earth, as for Elizabeth – she died and she would be much more suitable for Sheppard anyway). So I did my best at making my Mary-Sue hateable enough. For those browsing for Rodney McKay in search of a good story - there is not going to be an awful lot of him.

Secondly, I would like to warn you – this is going to be a strong M content. Sex, violence, language, angst – be ready, or do not read.

Thirdly, I do not own any of the quotes from books, songs or films, but because I kinda wanted to include them (and go in line with the plot), I shifted time a bit. So we begin somewhere in 2003 and end in 2005/2006.

P.S. The story is complete on paper. Unfortunately, English is not my native language and I don't have a beta, so forgive me for minor errors. If any of Russian speakers express the wish for the original story, I will put it up later on. Reviews are also appreciated, but not necessary.

So, grab a coffee/lager/ice-cream/popcorn (loads!) - and enjoy!

Chapter 1.

"Commander, we got a new batch of servants from our latest culling," his Second bowed respectfully.

The Wraith who was called Commander turned his tall, deadly frame to look at the miserable people, shaking with fear and being not able to hold his gaze for any second given. A pity, he thought, wraith must keep this flock on a hive, but, to be honest, these males and females were really suitable and necessary to complete the mundane tasks. And the times were hard nowadays, too many hives, too few grateful Worshipers.

Since the time he escaped Genii's prison – with a human's help, what a nuisance, - and took control over his old hive he didn't have time or opportunity to pick himself a human servant, so his Second took liberty to bringing any worthy humans for his observation after every culling. But if these were best, the human race is bound to extinction.

The humans were lined out before him, fifteen of them, males and females. He took his time to approach every one of them, slipping into their minds carefully, with ease. He felt fear... fear... more fear... the desire to remain alive in any way... wait, even that way? Commander looked at the human male whose thoughts caused him to cringe. No, human, he thought in reply. There may be some perverts around, but not me.

Nothing. Absolute emptiness. Something new, he thought. Morons were never picked even for the nastiest, hardest work on a hive. He looked at the human. It was a female of... he couldn't guess her age at a glance. Gray eyes with tiny droplets of blue and yellow. Long auburn hair, held together by a quite complicated hairdo. Yellowish pale skin, so thin one could see her veins. Sensual mouth. Dominating nose. Quite a tall one, well fed woman, curvy just where you'd expect a human woman to be. And – not a single thought.

He was looking at her for a second too long – she felt his gaze and took a step forward, clearly not afraid of weapons being aimed at her, - and smiled, revealing funny and nice dimples in the corners of her mouth.

"Master," she bowed her head so slightly, he felt a wave of anger towards her by his Second, "I wish to serve you if you want me."

Just then he was finally being able to catch a wave of her emotions – not any thoughts still, but, nevertheless, this was better than nothing. Commander smiled – this human was actually willing. Willing to serve an to protect, to kill for him, if need be, and give her own life for him, even if it meant him feeding of her.

"She will do," - he nodded to his Second and instantly was able to feel a surge of satisfaction. His Second was grateful he still knew how to please his ancient Commander. And something else. Commander decided to go slightly deeper of that particular line of thoughts and was stunned to discover this particular female was not running from darts while everyone else was. She actually stepped into the culling beam to be collected.

"Take her to my quarters," Commander ordered. "Now."

He was staring at her back for as long as she was in sight. Drones were following, but somehow were afraid to touch her. Strange human, indeed.

Their military unit was staying in this forsaken place for over a year now, but apart from a brief holiday there were not any chances for them to be send home at any time soon. Half a year passed since the time Sergeant Mortimer got himself killed by stepping on a mine; it was placed in the house of that little village they cleared of Talibans, and since then there was only one clear expression on every one of her soldiers' face – a wish to get. home. alive.

A contracted army... Captain Arvill spit. Most of those were boys, wooed by patriotic speeches after 9/11. She was not for the first time here, in Middle East, first time during the infamous "Sandstorm", serving in a medical unit. This was worse, but not so bloody as was Kosovo.

Captain Arvill earned respect really hard. She was transferred from the medical unit as soon as her former commander saw potential, but to be a woman and a doctor in an army was one thing. To be in charge of males, snickering at her back was another. In Kosovo her unit was left out without any medical supplies and was out of communication for a couple of days, when private Black broke his leg. She made a wooden cast and silently carried him to the base, all the fourteen miles, not asking for any help.

Here, however, it was relatively simple. A couple of months after their disposition she discovered illegal hashish traffic and instantly knew who might pay money to get some of it into the base. Carefully she searched for traces of evidence and it paid off – one particularly hot and dry evening Captain was taking a walk and found a group of privates and a Sergeant sitting on the bench beside the shooting ground smoking weed. She approached them, an instant fear in their eyes, as they tried to hide a joint. Nothing prepared them for what she did next – taking the full joint from one of the soldiers, she lit it up and smoked till it ended. Then she took her gun and aimed at a mock human target. Not a bullet escaped it. She reloaded her gun twice in swift motions, till she finished. On her leaving they heard her utter: "Until you, guys, learn to shoot like that...". Curious, they approached the shot target. On the chest of it words stated: NONE OF THIS SHIT HERE.

By the next morning everyone knew. She never saw anyone touching weed again...

..."Too hot," complained Sergeant Brown. "My water's getting rotten."

The four of them were on one of these stupid missions, when you just go around and scan everything in order to get more information. Someone in headquarters was tipped there is going to be a planned suicide bomber attack on one of these towns who cooperated with US military, so here they were – Arvill, Brown, Lieutenant "Lefty" Sunrise and Sergeant "Kill'em'all" Cole.

Brown was sent here as a replacement for Mortimer – not being here for half a year he blended easily. He was no more than twenty-seven, his half-Russian mother put his name Semen in the birth certificate just as it is, so he learned early enough how to get rid of bullies. Here, though, nobody called him by given name – his obsession in various MMORPG was soon discovered, and he always stayed true to the same nickname – Stark. So everyone just ended calling him that, or, in rare cases, Starky. The guy quickly proved to be a good shooter, his quick reaction saved a couple of lives, so whenever Captian "Good Doc" Arvill went on a mission, he was out and about with her.

They split in two groups – after all, their presence had to go as much unnoticed as possible. Lefty and Kill'em'all were scanning the southern part of a town. Arvill was used to suspicious glances of Arabic women – older ones greatly disapproved, younger ones obediently showed resentment.

"Why are we here, remind me?.." she whispered to Stark.

"To serve and protect," he whispered back without thinking.

"Yeah, right," she responded. "Although I have a nasty feeling we're actually watching a raunchy home porn. Shouldn't be there, that's what I think."

"Shouldn't have those planes crash in the Towers and kill loads of people, Tasha, that's what I think," Stark looked annoyed.

"Yeah, like we don't kill here," she answered.

They entered a market – a part of any Arabic town that truly fascinated Tasha. It was always busy this time of a day, women and men buying food and spices, cloth and dye. It was noisy, but she didn't mind. She wished, when it was all over, she could go to one of these and have a pick of a couple of bright headscarves, try to make any use of her bargain skills, as people here expertly did. Never mind headscarves, what she saw now was a truly fascinating piece of art – a golden belt, probably, worn by belly dancers, so fine and sparkly...

"I see a girl like my belt," the market stall owner called her. "Come, honey, I ask you not a lot for it!"

She laughed it off and told the owner she was on duty. Tasha really liked them being friendly, knowing that only friendliness attracts customers, but still.

"Shame we could not buy one of these," Stark pointed at the stall with fresh Turkish delight on it. "I used to stuff myself on these when I was younger."

"To serve and protect!" teased him Tasha.

Next thing she knew she was on the ground – out of pure instinct. And just second later she heard an explosion, although, a suspicious one. This is not trotyl or any other ground explosive, she thought, and then realized she couldn't hear anything anymore. People were running around, opening their mouths, but she couldn't hear them. Too strong for an explosion wave, she thought, and then it dawned on her – Tomahawk missile. Accurate, planned attack, that's what it was, and definitely not a work of Taliban.

Her next thought was – Stark. She looked around, but couldn't see him anywhere, so she crawled to the next stall, and then the next, until she finally saw a glimpse of a familiar uniform. There he was, lying on the ground, both legs pressed down by a supporting girder of a half-damaged house. Blood was everywhere. She checked his pulse and pupils – he was unconscious, his breath unsteady, but the pulse was still good. Tasha crawled to one of the stalls and took all the headscarves and other pieces of cloth she could get – to stop his bleeding was her priority.

Once that was done, Tasha tired to call for help. Knowing she couldn't here anybody, she tried to drag a couple of men along, but they shrugged her off, resentfully. Everybody wanted to save their own life, she thought, not a one of some random American soldier. She went back to check on Stark – he was still breathing, but the bleeding wouldn't stop, his right calf was especially bad. Tasha weighted her options – he could as well die here before help arrives.

She grabbed her radio and called the base: "This is Captain Arvill, calling the base, I can't hear you, because my hearing has been damaged with an explosion. I got Sergeant Brown over here, he is really bad and we need medical help. I repeat, we need medical help, as soon as you can get it!"

She could see radio slightly vibrating in return and prayed to whatever God there was, somebody is going to come for them. Time was running out for Stark – she knew people could do without amputation for five hours flat, but the more they waited, the more the risk was for a guy to contract an infection.

She randomly scanned the stalls. Where there is cloth, there are scissors and threads. Tasha wished she had her medical bag with her, but she had to do with what little she could find. At last she found what she wanted – and noticed Stark moving slightly. Tasha ran to him, only to see him opening his eyes and seeing his trapped legs with horror. Stark opened his mouth and, obviously, screamed, but she still couldn't hear a thing. She tried to indicate that to Stark and saw his fingers curl in an OK sign.

Slowly and clearly she spoke to him: "Stark, you need to decide now. I don't know if help is coming at all. I don't know if our base is attacked. Sunrise and Cole are nowhere to be seen, they may be in trouble as well. I cannot lift this, I tried. You are losing blood, do you understand?"

He nodded, still in fear. Then he pointed at his legs and made a "chop-chop" sign with his fingers.

"Stark, I don't want to do this, but this might be your only chance to survive," she replied.

He nodded again and then said something. Tasha shook her head. He caught her hand and squeezed it a couple of times. He kept squeezing it till she understood – this was their code and he was saying: "I want to live."

"Forgive me, Stark," she said and in one swift movement of her right hand she knocked him out. "I've got no morphine," she whispered.

It was late here, in Atlantis, but Jennifer was still busy in the infirmary. Atlantis-One came back from their mission relatively unscratched, but Atlantis-Three, who were supposed to check out an uninhabited planet got under the wraith fire. A hive was grounded on a planet for an unknown reason and Lieutenant Calvin was badly hurt.

Another thing that kept her working late nights was her invention. She was developing a genetic treatment for Wraith to abolish their need to feed without them being turned to humans. Based on Carson retrovirus, it all went well until one point – simulations showing the wraith immune system collapse.

"I said, are you still working?"

Jennifer nearly jumped. "John, I couldn't hear you," she smiled at the Colonel.

"Yeah, I figured that out. You seem so busy nowadays, whatcha got?"

"Ah, just some thing that might be useful," she mused.

"Not wanting to tell 'till it's ready, huh?" John smiled. "Listen, I just wanted to tell you something, but promise you won't tell a living soul."

"Am I the right person to keep a secret?" she teased.

"Er... I just figured out you want to know and maybe do something about it," John suddenly looked nervous. "There's this thing, you know, how we sometimes play poker after a mission, just to relax? So here we were a couple of nights ago, and McKay said he was really glad you aren't doing field missions?"

"McKay said what?" Jennifer laughed out loud.

"Look, what I'm tryinna say is, McKay got this thing about you for, like, forever, but he is not going to admit it. So if you think, a guy is worth a chance, why don't you hang out more often, or something?" suggested John.

"I can't believe you're saying that," Jennifer looked astonished. "Are you talking about Dr. Rodney McKay, the combination of a genius and an asshole?"

"I'm just saying, in case you like him, maybe you..."

"Colonel Sheppard!" Jennifer was really trying not to laugh, so she poked him instead. "Are you playing cupid?"

He looked ashamed, but only slightly, barely hiding his own amusement. "Listen, I've met only two people in this galaxy who could use Sheppard's matchmaking agency, but one of them is Wraith and I don't know a single queen who I could offer, so I'm kind of doing what I can!"

"Speaking of Wraith," Jennifer suddenly got all serious." But you have to keep it a secret..."

" 'Course, Jen."

"...So if I get my therapy finished, we need to offer this to Todd," she told John after a simplified explanation. "Many lives could be saved if we get Wraith off their feeding cycle."

"Jen, you're a genius!" John exclaimed. "If we get this past Woolsey, Todd might want to even help you. The only thing is..." a sly smile appeared on his face, "do not work too hard. And promise you think 'bout McKay situation, alright?"

Jennifer grabbed the nearest thing she could throw at John, before realizing this was her work pad.


End file.
